Page 96 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

“My mother.”

I laugh. He’s mentioned his dad and sister, Bri, but his mom has been notably absent from every conversation. “I could tell. There’s a difference between ‘Mom’ and ‘my mother’.”

“Yeah.” He scowls at his screen in that way it does when he’s irritated. “She’s always been persistent.”

“What’s she saying?” I twirl the pasta around my fork.

“Look—” He turns the phone toward me, and I lean in to see an endless stream of messages lighting up the screen. “She’s left me six back-to-back texts today. Hello? Hello? Are you there? Are you alive? Then she called a few times.” The messages keep scrolling, each one more insistent than the last.

“Don’t you want to answer her?” I ask, thinking what it would feel like if my mom called that many times, and I didn’t pick up. “I’d assume something was wrong.”

“I’ve been on set with you.” But there’s something defensive in his tone, something that doesn’t quite ring true. He places the phone face-down on the table with more force than necessary.

“You have breaks, you know. I’m not a princess like the media claim. I’m not expecting you to ignore your mom.” I try to ease whatever is bothering him.

“Yeah, well…” He stabs at a piece of pasta with more aggression than it deserves. “You know I don’t like conversation all that much.”

“I do know that.” I wait, giving him space to continue if he wants. The comfortable silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft scrape of forks against bowls.

“She—” He exhales heavily, his shoulders dropping. “My family likes to ask a lot of questions. ‘What am I doing?’ ‘Am I eating?’ ‘How was work?’ ‘Did I talk to this person or that person?’ It’s just… a lot.” He takes a long drink of water. “Nothing really changes in my life enough to update them constantly, you know?”

I nod and remain quiet as I think about my own parents. The way my dad calls just to check in, no agenda, no news required. My mom asks the same questions, like am I sleeping enough, and I used to find that suffocating when I first moved out, but now, I’d be lost without it. I answer those calls every time, even when I’m exhausted or have nothing new to say.

“She keeps asking if I’ve talked to my dad. She means well. She just doesn’t understand that some distances exist for a reason.”

“Where do they live?” I ask gently.

“Next town over. About thirty minutes from here.” He finally takes a bite of his own food, some of the tension easing from his features.

“So not far.”

“No.” He pauses, then anticipates my next question. “Do I go back much? Usually for holidays and stuff like that. Thanksgiving, Christmas, someone’s birthday. But other than that, no. If I have spare time after surgeries and rounds, I usually go fishing with friends. Or even by myself. It’s something I really need to do to switch off.” His expression softens, his eyes focusing somewhere beyond the walls of the house. “Being out on the water, no pager going off, no trauma calls, no one needing anything from me... it’s the only time I really feel like I can breathe.”

I understand that more than he might expect. The set at five in the morning before everyone else arrives. The silent drive in the car with Channing. Those quiet moments before the day takes over and I belong to Dain and everyone else.

“Does that mean after you’re done looking after me, you’ll disappear for a whole month?” I taunt, though part of me actually wonders. Part of me doesn’t like the idea of him disappearing at all. It shouldn’t matter to me. I won’t be here anyway.

He dishes up another portion of pasta onto my plate without asking. He’s learned my appetite by now. I take a bite, and after I swallow, I admit, “I’m going to miss you when I leave.”

The words slip out before I can stop them, more honest. His hand stills halfway to his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He doesn’t reply to that, and the silence that follows feels significant.

Instead, he clears his throat and answers my earlier question, his voice slightly rough. “Yeah, I’ll probably go fishing, but I don’t think the hospital’s going to give me that much time off. I’ll have a booked up calendar when I get back. I’ll have to squeeze fishing in on weekends.” He pauses, finally meeting my eyes across the small table. There’s something vulnerable in his expression, something open. “I just wanted to say how much I appreciate how closely you’ve followed your post-op instructions. You’ve made this entire recovery process so much smoother.”

I finish chewing, heat spreading through me that has nothing to do with the pasta. “I love that I’m surprising you. Makes me feel good.”

“You’re full of surprises,” he says quietly, and the way he’s looking at me makes my breath catch.

“I can’t believe how little time we have left,” I say, trying to steer us back to safer ground, even as my heart races. “It’s going too fast.”

“Yeah.” He pushes pasta around his plate, his gaze dropping. “It’ll be strange.”

“You’ll miss this place?” I ask, not quite brave enough to check if he’ll miss me.

“This place will miss you, I think.” His eyes lift to mine again, holding steady, and there’s something in his expression that makes me wonder if he’s saying more than his words suggest.

We stare at each other for another long moment, neither of us saying anything more. The air between us feels electric. Brooke’s words replay in my mind: Start with how you feel.

But wouldn’t that just make things awkward?